


Tear In My Dress (and I don't care)

by sweetwordsandfevers



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Gen, Gender Roles, Haircuts, Pre-Canon, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwordsandfevers/pseuds/sweetwordsandfevers
Summary: Ingrid’s hair grew fast. She learned this when she was six. No need to cut it under a full moon. She blamed it on her mother’s tireless prayers to the goddess. This last one she blamed on herself.--I have many thoughts about the way Ingrid performs feminity a little to the left and about time skip her haircut and how she seems to make concessions until she doesn't and I love her for it.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Glenn Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Tear In My Dress (and I don't care)

**Author's Note:**

> This is tragically unbeta-ed and English is not my first language and it probably shows. I apologize for any wonky phrasing and grammar.

Ingrid’s hair grew fast. She learned this when she was six. No need to cut it under a full moon. She blamed it on her mother’s tireless prayers to the goddess. This last one she blamed on herself. She had convinced her friends to help her cut her hair, blonde and long as it was it served as nothing but a hindrance: it gets in her eyes and mouth, when running or sparring, it brushes against her eyes and neck uncomfortably, it falls into her soup as she was trying to eat. So she decided to take the matters into their own hands, for they promised to always be there for each other. 

Sylvain brought the scissors and the amused glint in his eyes, Felix, who, did not want to get in trouble, but wherever they went he followed, brought a wooden bowl that they promptly set upon her head and Dimitri did the cutting, brave and bold as he was, figuring that their parents couldn’t be too upset if the Crown Prince was involved. 

They were wrong. Her mother screeched upon seeing her, tears welling up in her eyes, same eyes Ingrid saw in the mirror. 

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea, what have you  _ done _ ?” She shrieked, grabbing her by the arm and squeezing uncomfortably. “You are in such great trouble, young lady” 

She was dragged by the arm without any of them being able to utter a word in her defense. 

Back in Galatea the maids tried to hide the snickers while her siblings didn’t, laughing out loud at her. His father shook his head and declared he would not get involved and in this female matter, they shall defer to her mother. 

Ingrid was banned from riding for weeks and still, regardless of everyone’s reactions, this has been the most comfortable she had felt in ages. If she didn’t miss her horses so much it would all be well worth it. 

As luck would have it, thanks to her mothers prayers her hair was back past her shoulders not many moons later. 

***

The braids were a compromise. The first of many in a life that she was slowly learning would be defined as all about balance. 

“You are not a maid, Ingrid, you cannot wear your hair in a bun.” Countess Galatea said, pulling the ribbon that kept her hair up, the knot loosed up and her hair fell down her back once again. 

“The hair gets in my way, Mother and I cannot ride properly with hair in my face blocking my sight.” Frustrated as she felt, Ingrid kept her tone cordial and still, too much emotion would never bode her well. “It will only be for a short time, I promise.”

“That won’t do.” Her mother wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Alright, we shall braid it, a long braid will look beautiful on you and it will keep the hair out of your face.” 

Her mother stood behind her and patiently weaved her hair into a complicated plait. Ingrid took the pulling and detangling and tightening quietly, feeling relief as the hair cleared from her shoulder neatly arranged at the back of her head. 

She touched the braid when the mother was done, her fingers running over the length of it and then she smiled, this she could work with. “Thank you.” Ingrid said sincerely, adding a curtsy for good measure, her mother liked that sort of thing. 

Her mother smiled, tucking her own long blonde hair behind her ear. “Alright, then, you know when you have to be back, don’t waste time.” She said. 

Ingrid nodded and walked towards the stables with her mother’s gaze on her. She remembered to keep her back straight. 

***

The riding and horses were not a concession, thankfully. She was from Faerghus, after all. Her whole family greatly loved the loyals animals so it was only natural that she would, too. 

“Horses are noble beasts, Ingrid.” Her mother had told her once, as she watched Ingrid brushing her mare. “It’s a sign of virtue when such creatures like you.” 

Her mare huffed and Ingrid nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

“It’s a good rule of thumb not to trust people who aren’t good with animals.” Lady Galatea continued. 

Ingrid hummed, most of the time she spent with her mother amounted to this, always some kind of lesson to be taught. She figured it was the price to pay to be born to save her entire House. She tried to listen and learn whatever Lady Galatea was trying to teach her, but times like this she desperately wished they could just enjoy themselves. 

“I think you should start taking Faith magic lessons.” Her mother said after a silence. 

Finally Ingrid looked at her, puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, Glenn is a knight at the service of His Majesty, as his future wife it is your duty to take care of him in whatever way is needed and that includes tending to his wounds.” The Countess explained matter of factly. 

“But I am making great progress with the lance!” Ingrid protested, she had stopped tending to her mare and was looking at her mother with pleading eyes. “I’m very good at mounted combat, even better than the Prince!” She worked hard and studied on her own, her tutors were proud of her. They had told her parents as much. She was training to be like Glenn, like the knights from the tales. Loyal, proud, duty-bound. She had done this while keeping her hair long, her fingernails intact, her skin soft. Why would her mother try to punish her so?

“Dear, I do not see a reason why the lady of House Fraldarius should march into armed combat” Her mother countered, as impassive as always.

True, the nation was currently at peace. So, out of arguments Ingrid decided to pull the one card that truly mattered to her mother. “But Glenn is so very proud of me, he’s said so himself.” Ingrid said, hating herself. “I don’t think he’d like it too much if I quit it.”

This gave her mother pause. Countess Galatea hummed, lost in thought. “I suppose it’s true he holds special affection to our lance traditions.” She said. “Maybe we can squeeze some weekend classes at Church. You could even get certified as a Holy Knight, someday, a righteous certification indeed.”

Ingrid dreaded the thought of adding yet another thing to her already busy schedule of training, riding lessons, school, lessons in statecraft from Father and wifely duties from mother and taking care of younger siblings, but she knew this was as much as her mother would relent from having her way. 

“That’s not a bad idea, Mother.” She said and turned back to her mare. 

  
  


***

Glenn let her practice braiding hair on him. She was tired of having to ask her mother or the maids for help and decided to remedy that. Glenn had his father’s wavy hair, somewhat different from Ingrid’s straight locks, but good enough. He sat in the grass with his back to her, as she divided his hair into three sections. He was reading Loog and the Maiden of Wind out loud so that they both could enjoy it. 

Their parents had set these outings, without her friends and with a couple chaperones, as a way for them to bond and while they were incredibly awkward at first, in the last few years they had become enjoyable. Glenn was quick witted, but never unkind. They would read together or he would tell her about his adventures as a Knight and there was always food, a bonus in Ingrid’s book every time. 

“Speaking of…” Glenn paused reading as Loog was badly injured during the final arc of the book. “How are the Faith lessons coming along?” He asked. 

Ingrid scrunched up her nose, even if he couldn’t see her, she hoped he could tell her distaste. 

“I haven’t progressed much farther than bruises and scratches.” She replied sincerely. “The monks say I need to strengthen my relationship with the Goddess, but I’m not sure the Goddess will get me to understand all those damn sigils.”

Glenn sighed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of that one, Inga.” He said, softly, looking at his lap. His voice had gotten deeper in the last few years, Ingrid found herself enjoying the new, soothing tone.

“Don’t move your head or your braid will look weird.” She replied, focusing on the work at hand. Right strand over middle strand, left strand over middle one, over and over, not too loose not too tight. “There was nothing you could have done, really.” Ingrid said once the silence had gone on for too long. “And it’s a useful skill, there’s no denying that.”

“But you hate it!” He said, looking at her over his shoulder and undoing half on her work. She tugged at the braid and smiled when he complained. 

She knew he tried to make this arrangement softer on her, he had been in this engagement as long as she had and while he didn’t quite understand how it was for her, he always tried to make it so that she could have her own life. And she couldn’t help but love him for it. 

“It keeps her happy.” She shrugged and before Glenn could say something more she tied a ribbon to the end of the braid. “There you go.”

Glenn let the braid over his shoulder to inspect her work. He broke into a grin. “”Would you look at that, now we match!”.

Ingrid chuckled. “We do. We must make a rather silly picture.” 

“Huh, I might start wearing it like this more often.” He mused absently. “It  _ is  _ quite practical.”

***

Glenn kept wearing his curly hair in a loose braid at the back of his head. She wasn’t sure if it was a nod to her or an actual issue of practicality, but she suspected that if it was the latter a simple ponytail would have sufficed. 

When he died Ingrid thought about cutting her own braid, it was common among widows as a sign of bereavement and while they weren't married, she would surely be allowed to grieve like that a fifteen year old engagement  _ and  _ it would give her an excuse to have short hair again. 

Glenn had died and she was thinking about her hair. Glenn was gone as was his laughter and their training sessions and the dates where she would braid his hair. Glenn had died, in service of the Kingdom, in a horrible massacre and she didn’t know how to proceed and so she thought about her hair instead of his. 

Ingrid loved him, maybe not like a wife loves a husband, but it was love all the same, his absence was heavy upon all of their shoulders, her lifelong friends barely spoke anymore, neither did she. For weeks, she performed her duties mechanically, her eyes red from crying, her mind lost elsewhere, she stayed in her own bedroom whenever she could.

Grief was hard and heavy, but it wasn’t eternal. She would always carry the weight of Glenn on her shoulder and her heart, but everyday she got stronger and it became easier to carry.

She kept the braid, the only thing that still tied them together.

***

It was different in The Academy. A change of pace. She could pretend she was there to train, to become a Knight, as valiant and honorable as Glenn had been. She could ignore the letters from her parents talking about all the different suitors they were considering for her once her year at the Academy was over. 

The Academy was different, but it was also the same. She could focus on training and riding and tactics lessons. But there was still Annette insisting to put makeup on her and Hilda somehow roping her into allowing her to change her hair. She had never liked dressing up growing up, but compared to her friends she had been downright prim. It was odd, now, realizing how bad at being ladylike she was, even when she was trying. 

Even so Garrech Mach was a solace she hadn’t had since Glenn died and her friends and herself broke in so many pieces not even four pairs of hands could put them all back together. The Academy forced them back together into a strained proximity she was still figuring out. It was also where she met Lady Catherine and Shamir and even Leonie. Other women like her, some of them even noble born, who chafed at silks and lace and proposals, women who just wanted to become faster, stronger, smarter, the very best at what they did. They had none in their tow telling them how to act and look, telling them who to marry, or even to marry at all. Ingrid couldn’t help the sharp sting of envy at the sight of them, so free in the training ground. 

She understood that they all had to sacrifice something for the lives they lead, but the sacrifice she would have to make was far too great, she wondered if she could do that to her family, to the people of Galatea. Her heart was set on knighthood, but what about her duty to her people?

She had this whole year for herself to decide. Ingrid ignored her father’s letters and rejoiced in her progress when she knocked down the Prince during sparring, took eager notes when the Professor corrected her form. She ate with Leonie and Raphael, listened to their stories and laughed at their jokes then she sat for hours in the library researching new agricultural techniques. She tried to mend her broken pieces, build bridges with her friends again. She even refined her healing spell after Annette lent her her color coded notes.

At the Academy she had the chance to become the woman and the knight she always dreamt of being. She found that marriage fit less and less in those plans. 

***

When the war broke, the whole world was sent into chaos. 

The Kingdom was trying to eat itself and suddenly it was clear to all that her one duty was to protect her homeland, even if it had to be from itself. No one cared anymore who her hand would be given to when she was holding her lance. 

Still. She wondered what would become of her when the war ended, it she lived to see such a world again 

“I was born engaged, did you know?” She was sitting with Felix in front of a fire on one of those rare occasions where they could sit together and rest after a fight. War council was not until the next day and they were sipping ale from the same bottle. 

Felix tenses besides her, he hates talking about Glenn, even after all these years, she knows it pokes into old wounds that are not healed enough to reminisce like she does sometimes. But his death turned but of their worlds upside down, he was the only person who truly got it. 

“I did not know.” He said, taking the pint from her, rolling the bottle between his pals before drinking. 

“That’s terrifying, I keep thinking...Glenn was my friend and he was so kind and admirable... and I loved him as such, but he could’ve been cruel…”

“He wasn’t.” Felix interrupted her, he leered at her, but Ingrid waved him off.

“He could’ve been, Felix, he could’ve been cruel and callous, he wasn’t and I was lucky for that, because he could’ve been and it wouldn’t have mattered.” Ingrid realized she was rambling, yet she couldn’t stop herself. “Felix, he could’ve just as easily been Miklan...” 

“But it wasn’t. It wasn’t and now you’re free of any betrothal.” Felix reminded her, ever practical. Ingrid took the bottle from him and took a long swig. 

“When this is over, I don’t think I want the world to go back to what it was.” Ingrid said, quietly. “I don’t want to be wed, especially not to a man.” She all but whispered that last part, but she knew Felix heard her nonetheless. 

He looked like he was trying not to react at that and it made her laugh, a tiny giggle that bubbled up from her chest. She wondered if he knew about his own brother, how he was much the same as her and also her opposite, but resolved not to tell him tonight, too many surprises for one night.

“It won’t be the same, it wasn’t that great to begin with.” He replied.

Ingrid nodded. “We can  _ make  _ something better.” She said, a thrill ran down her spine as she uttered the words. It was the first time since the war broke out that she allowed herself to think of a future after this war. 

“That’s a nice dream, but we first have to put an end to this war.” Felix said, somber. It had been a losing fight since the start but.

“We will, we have to.” And because they had to, she would. 

Later that night Ingrid sat alone in her bedroom, her armor finally off, her lance resting against a wall; the dull, warm hum alcohol still in her veins. She tightened her braid against her skull and taking a deep breath, took her favorite dagger to it. 

It took more effort and sawing than she expected but after a few seconds of blindly wrestling with it, her long blonde braid fell to the floor with an almost imperceptible sound. Ingrid stared at it, her head feeling much lighter than she could have ever imagined. She ran her fingers through her hair and giggled like a child, she could tell it was choppy and uneven but the deed was done. 

It was time to leave the past behind, time to stop kneeling at the altar of a god she didn’t pray to. She could do it, it was a kinder and juster world that she was trying to build and she knew she had it in her to become the knight a world like that deserved. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my silly little fic! This is the first FE3H fic I finished writing and I'm very excited about that.   
> If you wanna see me yelling about fire emblem three houses i'm on tw @ _bluemoony


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